Free The Billionaire's Alibi: The Proposition by Maddy Raven Page B

Derrick.
    We are the perfect couple on paper and all our friends would say so. I graduated from the Art Institute a few months ago, at the beginning of the summer. My degree is in fashion marketing, and I’m going to be a big success someday. Derrick has an MBA from Northwestern and works as a financial consultant for United Airlines. He makes good money, six figures, and he doesn’t mind spending it on me, as long as he gets what he wants out of the deal.
    But behind closed doors, where only the two of us can truly know what happens, things aren’t as lovely as they are on paper. Derrick isn’t very affectionate. He doesn’t touch me unless he wants sex. When he fucks me, he’s always on top, always staring at the headboard behind us, never looking into my eyes. He doesn’t caress my breasts, doesn’t suck on the lips of my rose, doesn’t care if he gets me wet before shoving his dick inside me.
    I know it shouldn’t matter. I have safety, security, everything a young woman could want. Derrick supports my career, even though I’m working in retail for now. He knows I have to build my portfolio and my network before I can see my designs on the runway. He is the rock to my wings. He keeps me on the ground, and because of him, I never float away.
    But I also have longings. Like the blonde man who never speaks to me, but probably wants to. These longings eat me alive with guilt.
    I sometimes wonder, if I just acted on what I wanted more often, would I feel so empty in my relationship with Derrick? Sure, he loves me, in the most sterile sense of the word, but would it always be enough? Would I spend the rest of my life wondering, wishing that I could be someone else for a few days?
    I make a decision and pack my sketchpad and pencils into my backpack. I read somewhere that love at first sight doesn’t exist, that what we feel instead is the fantasy that we have projected onto someone, based on their looks. I am confident that if I talk to the blonde man, he will disappoint me. And once he shatters the perfect image I’ve created of him, I’ll lose interest. It’s much safer that way, anyway. I don’t want to jeopardize what I have with Derrick. What I have with Derrick is good. Why risk that?
    I walk toward the blonde man. He looks up for just a second, and I know I can’t turn back without being obvious. It’s now or never.
    I stand behind the chair across the table from him. “Is this seat taken?”
    His eyelashes flutter at me. “Help yourself.”
    I have never heard his voice before, not even him speaking to someone else, but I am pleasantly surprised by how deep it sounds. His husky tone tickles the hairs on my neck, and I am suddenly desperate for him to whisper in my ear.
    That is not the only thing I’m desperate for. I want to touch him, want him to touch me. I imagine his finger trailing ever so lightly across my forehead, down my cheek, until it reaches the side of my mouth. I salivate as I stare at his lips. His eyes are bright, but there is a dark, dangerous hunger beneath the surface, lurking under the shadows of his thick eyelashes. We make eye contact, and I know he feels what I feel. I know he wants me too.
    In my mind, I’m entering terrifying territory. I’m supposed to meet Derrick and our friends at Custom House for dinner in a few hours. I need to go home and change, and my long, golden mane needs to be styled in an up-do. I do not have the time or the emotional energy required to speak to this man. And most importantly, I do not have the freedom to speak to him.
    I look down at his sketchpad, searching for something innocent to say. He has his arm across the top of it, obstructing my view.
    “What are you drawing?” I ask.
    The movements on his face are fascinating as he contemplates his response. His eyebrows move slightly up and his eyes dilate. His nose twitches and he brushes it with his free hand. The corners of his lips turn up in a small smile, and I see the whites of his